The Coral Island
His arms were round a chest of oaken wood,
It was clamped with brass and iron studs, and seemed
An awful weight. After a while he stood
And I stole near to him.—His white eyes gleamed
As he peeped secretly about; he laid
The oaken chest upon the ground, then drew
A great knife from his belt, and stuck the blade
Into the ground and dug. The clay soon flew
In all directions underneath a tree,
And when the hole was deep he put the box
Down there, and threw the clay back cunningly,
Stamping the ground quite flat; then like a fox
He crept among the trees.... I went next day
To dig the treasure up, but I lost my way.
poem by James Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Stamping Ground
The stamping ground,
The stamping ground.
All your old gang
Still hang around.
Coming in with the same blokes,
Going home with the same jokes,
If you ever go missing
I know where youll be found :
The stamping ground.
The big fella on the front door knows your face.
The barman pretends that hes saved you a place,
But when your back is turned
They say shes older than she tells.
I could stand the main attraction,
But not the clientelle.
The stamping ground,
The stamping ground.
All your old gang
Still hang around.
Coming in with the same blokes,
Going home with the same jokes,
If you ever go missing
I know where youll be found :
The stamping ground.
Everybody knows
Evrybodys trouble,
Who comes in alone,
Who leaves as a couple.
When they seen you coming, babe,
They act like theyre pleased to meet you.
Say its very nice to know you,
But I wouldnt want to be you.
The stamping ground,
The stamping ground.
All your old gang
Still hang around.
Going home with the same blokes,
Going home with the same jokes,
If you ever go missing
I know where youll be found :
The stamping ground.
You talk like you dont have a brain in your head.
You act like you dont have a care in your bed.
Th lights are on,
Theres no one home,
It scares you to death.
You stamp on anyone who stops to take a breath.
The stamping ground,
The stamping ground.
All your old gang
Still hang around.
Going home with the same blokes,
Going home with the same jokes,
If you ever go missing
I know where youll be found :
The stamping ground.
The stamping ground.
The stamping ground.
The stamping ground.
The stamping ground.
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snowthunder
White on the ground and cicles
from the roof
Trees of ice and vehicles are
one inch solid
All is white
From building top to ground
No breeze or no sky or no birds
or no sound
All is still
With a sudden crack the lightening
splits the sky
In many directions roaring
From one side of the sky to the other
Shaking of the ground
Ice shatters from trees and roofs and
from everywhere
Hitting the ground
Sounds echo of popping and snapping
and cracking
Sheets falling off of sides and tops
Sounding like a war is on us
The ground and sky shakes and roars
No safe place to step
A bird flies through the sky screeching
Flying in waves and screaming
Beware the snowthunder comes
poem by Sarah Stites
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Testify
Come a little closer it's a feeling that I can't deny
I was weak, but I never thought I'd speak about the darker side
Is that a ten? I could repent on the side of the road
But, I kept on going yeah I headed for another load
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
I was laid upon the grave by a preacher's hand I cannot lie
And, I forsake many vows I made to be with you tonight
Could you be the salvation cause I never felt like this before
And, could you lend me your hand because I'm falling back on the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
On a road outside of nowhere, in the middle of the night
Well I guess I hit rock bottom and the dawn was not in sight
And a Tempest made of fire, onset the sky aglow
And a sweet young thing called out my name
And this is how it goes, she says...
Choir:
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf: And I got down on my knees
Choir :"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf (over the top of the choirs last two repititions):
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf:
Every cut that heals reveals a scar that you can never hope to hide
All the pain that you restrain keeps building up deep inside
If you think you're above it then it's you my friend that I implore
You've got to talk before you run
See the night before the dawn
Before you pull yourself off the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Choir Singer: Up from the ground yeah, I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Check
The night was creeping on the ground;
She crept and did not make a sound
Until she reached the tree, and then
She covered it, and sole again
Along the grass beside the wall.
I heard the rustle of her shawl
As she threw blackness everywhere
Upon the sky and ground and air,
And in the room where I was hid:
But no matter what she did
To everything that was without,
She could not put my candle out.
So I stared at the night, and she
Stared back solemnly at me.
poem by James Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Check
The night was creeping on the ground;
She crept and did not make a sound
Until she reached the tree, and then
She covered it, and sole again
Along the grass beside the wall.
I heard the rustle of her shawl
As she threw blackness everywhere
Upon the sky and ground and air,
And in the room where I was hid:
But no matter what she did
To everything that was without,
She could not put my candle out.
So I stared at the night, and she
Stared back solemnly at me.
poem by James Brunton Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heavy Horses
Heavy horses
By jethro tull
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
On octobers day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Last of the line at an honest days toil
Turning the deep sod under
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone
Flies at the nostrils plunder.
The suffolk, the clydesdale, the percheron vie
With the shire on his feathers floating
Hauling soft timber into the dusk
To bed on a warm straw coating.
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now youre down to the few
And theres no work to do
The tractors on its way.
Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And well stand you abreast at the back of the woods
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
Youre eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
And the nights are seen to draw colder
Theyll beg for your strength, your gentle power
Your noble grace and your bearing
And youll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
In the wake of the deep plough, sharing.
Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In stiff battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
Across these acres glistening
Like dew on a carpet lawn
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
As the heavy horses thunder by
To wake the dying city
With the living horsemans cry
At once the old hands quicken ---
Bring pick and wisp and curry comb ---
Thrill to the sound of all
The heavy horses coming home.
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
On octobers day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now youre down to the few
And theres no work to do
The tractors on its way.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn Around
I was working all night in my office
When a man I had recently killed
Called me up from a phone near my building
So I looked out the window at him
He had the same obsequious manner
That was the reason I had him killed
So to calm my nerves I sang this song
To him, over the phone
Turn around, turn around
Theres a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
Its a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground
Turn around
I was out by myself in the graveyard
I was doing an interpretive dance
When I felt something heavy and pointed
Strike me in the back of the neck
And then the ghost of my dance instructor
Pushed me down into an open grave
And as dirt rained down she played a xylophone
And sang me this song
Turn around, turn around
Theres a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
Its a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground
Turn around
We were waving our arms out the window
Of a fast moving passenger train
Acting in an irresponsible fashion
Until the engineer whose back had been turned
And who we thought would find us highly amusing
Quickly swiveled his head around
And his face which was a paper-white mask of evil
Sang us this song
Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
Theres a thing there that can be found (theres a thing there that can be)
Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
Its a human skull on the ground (its a human skull on the)
Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
Turn around (turn around, turn around)
Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
Theres a thing there that can be found (theres a thing there that can be)
Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
Its a human skull on the ground (its a human skull on the)
Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
Turn around (turn around, turn around)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Best Shot
In a fight
I couldn't win
I threw my hat
into the ring
but the fray
felt good
better than
I thought it would
bloodied but unbowed
I stood my ground
my mouth clamped shut.
poem by Vince Gullaci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Tree
Just a plain old TREE. I Ignored the weather
satisfied with me. I Looked at TREE.
What if anything do I knoe about TREE.
It used to be a thing made out of wood, always tall,
with branches near the ground. Roots fingering the ground.
Life comes up somehow to TREE. Water cascades down to ground, seeping slowly into ROOT. ROOT transmogrifies
the water into inner sanctum stuff known only to the Lord.
People still tell me, Tree just cannot live.
There is no real feeling in TREE.
There is knowledge in TREE or it would be a blade of grass.
People say the life is in the seed or sapiling.
I think the knowledge is in the MAN, the ONE who can.
He Makes all the TREE begin, upon a distant planet,
Creates the thing again, in the courtyard of his KING.
And every meadow of his earth.
The ONE who gave me birthe the second time around.
The ONE who gave me TREE.
And Time to write this down.
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Burying Her Ashes
Strange!
A person with great height
and weight is now turned
into an urn of ashes.
Down deep into a
little hole of the ground,
she is laid down
without music
and elegance.
Strange!
She, an equation
by contraction
or reduction!
And this life
of great height
and grandeur
is now inside
a metallic urn!
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet
'THE blackbird's in the briar,
The seagull's on the ground-
They are nests, and they're more than nests,' he said,
'They are tokens I have found.
There, where the rain-dashed briar
Marks an empty glade,
The blackbird's nest is seen,' he said,
'Clay-rimmed, uncunningly made.
By shore of the inland lake,
Where surgeless water shoves,
The seagulls have their nests,' he said,
'As low as catties' hooves.'
I heard a poet say it,
The sojourner of a night;
His head was up to the rafter,
Where he stood in candles' light.
'Your houses are like the seagulls'
Nests they are scattered and low;
Like the blackbirds' nests in briars,' he said,
'Uncunningly made even so.
But close to the ground are reared
The wings that have widest sway,
And the birds that sing best in the wood,' he said,
'Were reared with breasts to the clay.
You've wildness I've turned it to song;
You've strength I've turned it to wings;
The welkin's for your conquest then,
The wood to your music rings.'
I heard a poet say it,
The sojourner of a night;
His head was up to the rafter,
Where he stood in candles' light.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Burning Ground
And I take you down to the burning ground
And you change me up and you turned it around
In the wind and rain Im gonna see you again
In the morning sun and when the day is done
And you take my hand and you walk with me
Sometimes it feels like eternity
And I turn the tide I get back my pride
And I make you proud wont you say it out loud
When I take you down to the burning ground
To the burning ground, to the burning ground
To the burning ground, to the burning ground
And I take you down by the factory
And I show you like it has to be
And you understand how the work is done
And I pick up the sack in the midday sun
And I pull you through by the skin of your teeth
And I lift the veil, I see whats underneath
And you return to me and you sit on your throne
And you make me feel that Im not alone
And I take you down to the burning ground
To the burning ground, to the burning ground
To the burning ground
Hey man, whats that youre carrying?
Feels like lead
It weighs a ton - lets see if we can dump it by the side of the hill
Hey wait up, why dont you dump it on the burning ground
Dump it down there
Yeh man, dump the jute
Hey man dump the jute on the burning ground
Dump the jute?
Yeh you know, dump the jute
Dump the jute!
On the burning ground
On the burning ground
And you make me think what its all about
Sometimes I know gonna work it out
And I watch you run in the crimson sun
Tear my shirt apart open up my heart
And I watch you run
Down on your bended knees
By the burnt out well
Can you tell me please
Between heaven and hell
Wont you take me down
To the burning ground, to the burning ground
To the burning ground, to the burning ground
And you fall and pray, when you hear that sound
As were walking back to the burial mound
And you shake your head and you turn it around
And you see the flames from the burning ground
And you get down on your knees and pray
And I catch my breath as were running away
And I take the jute and I throw him down
On the burning ground, on the burning ground
On the burning ground, its on the burning ground.....
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Ground
After driving all night Daddy stopped the car
Said, "Wake up kids, here we are
This is our new home"
From that Oldsmobile all I could see
Was an ocean of fields out in front of me
It just rolled on, on and on
Daddy crossed the fence and he knelt down
Filled his hands with rich farmland and said
"This is good ground"
I had it all underneath my feet
There was room to grow - there was time to breathe
And dreams stretched high under summer skies
This is where I'm from - this is who I am
Down these roads I became a man
And they're calling me - where my roots run deep
Deep down - this is good ground
Mama had me diggin' in her flower bed
There it was an arrowhead
And all I wanted to be, was Cherokee
Seasons change and childhood goes
I laid down my homemade bow for a brown-eyed girl
She changed my world
I learned to drive so we could ride around
We made the sweetest memories in it
On good ground
I had it all underneath my feet
There was room to grow - there was time to breathe
And dreams stretched high under summer skies
This is where I'm from - this is who I am
Down these roads I became a man
And they're calling me where my roots run deep
Deep down - this is good ground
I drove all night then I stopped the car
Said, "Wake up kids, here we are
This is our new home
It's been too long"
Crossed that fence and I knelt down
Said, "Everybody gather 'round
Hold out your hands, this is good ground"
You've got it all underneath your feet
There's room to grow - there's time to breathe
And dreams stretch high under summer skies
This is where I'm from - this is who I am
Down these roads I became a man
And they're calling me where my roots run deep
Deep down - this is good ground
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daybreak in Alabama
When I get to be a composer
I'm gonna write me some music about
Daybreak in Alabama
And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it
Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in it
And the scent of pine needles
And the smell of red clay after rain
And long red necks
And poppy colored faces
And big brown arms
And the field daisy eyes
Of black and white black white black people
And I'm gonna put white hands
And black hands and brown and yellow hands
And red clay earth hands in it
Touching everybody with kind fingers
And touching each other natural as dew
In that dawn of music when I
Get to be a composer
And write about daybreak
In Alabama.
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Off The Ground
There must have been a lot of heartache
For you to sink so low.
You must have had a ton of pressure.
Only answer if the answers no.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
There must have been a lot of magic
When the world was born.
Let me be the one you wish for,
One you call for, when youre all alone.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Wouldnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Though it takes a lot of power
To make a bog tree grow.
It doesnt need a pot of knowledge.
For a seed knows what a seed must know.
You need loving, I need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sounnd, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the groound, off the ground.
Yeah yeah, off the ground.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Commandant Gideon Scheepers
They tried to send him to hell,
as if he was one of them,
a traitor, a rebel.
The British killed a captured ill man,
that they came across in the veldt
without decency, or any military law being honoured.
They shot a Boer commandant through the heart
and without a funeral note,
they hurried, to get him buried.
A brave man devoted
to his country, to his God,
whose burial place was not noted.
Turning sod after sod
with spades, they dumped him
in a unmarked grave
in the dead of night
without using light
they threw ground upon his chest,
laid him to rest without any honour
and left him alone
without a marking stone.
[References: The rank of Commandant is equivalent to that of Lieutenant Colonel. The heroic story of Gideon Scheepers during the second Anglo-Boer war, who was captured while being ill in the veldt as a normal combatant, but treated like a rebel and shot by the British, who buried him in a unmarked hole in the ground.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Song of the Oak
The Druids waved their golden knives
And danced around the Oak
When they had sacrificed a man;
But though the learned search and scan
No single modern person can
Entirely see the joke.
But though they cut the throats of men
They cut not down the tree,
And from the blood the saplings spring
Of oak-woods yet to be.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He rots the tree as ivy would,
He clings and crawls as ivy would
About the sacred tree.
King Charles he fled from Worcester fight
And hid him in the Oak;
In convent schools no man of tact
Would trace and praise his every act,
Or argue that he was in fact
A strict and sainted bloke.
But not by him the sacred woods
Have lost their fancies free,
And though he was extremely big
He did not break the tree.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He breaks the tree as ivy would,
And eats the woods as ivy would
Between us and the sea.
Great Collingwood walked down the glade
And flung the acorns free,
That oaks might still be in the grove
As oaken as the beams above,
When the great Lover sailors love
Was kissed by Death at aea.
But though for him the oak-trees fell
To build the oaken ships,
The woodman worshipped what he smote
And honoured even the chips.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He hates the tree as ivy would,
As the dragon of the ivy would
That has us in his grips.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The War Within 2
Nothing to do as the day passes on, with dull moments filling the seconds
Why not meditate, so without hesitate I laid down on my bed
Took one long breathe in and on the exhale I fell into a trance
What is this, how can this be, thing here have gone to hell
A once peaceful place looks like fire rose up and rebelled
Looking to the left and looking to the right there was nothing in sight
No reminisce of what had used to be, the inner peace I used to seek
Only one person has the capability to have such a horrible thing done
I went to look for the other half I need to expel
It took me no time to fine the lord of the demons
Just like the Titian Cronus he hunger and desire power
Jacob the OG sat in the middle of the world undisturbed
His aura just as last, demonic pass the point of no return
A butterfly flew pass him and instantly go burned
The time for talking was over, I flung in with a kick to the dome
It plunged him back hitting the ground sparking up dust
I didn't want to give him time to recover so I dashed towards where he landed
Out of the dust a rock hit me right in the forehead
I was stunned; he wind milled me right in the stomach
Standing my ground I grab his foot and broke it with my elbow
It didn't stop him, leg broken and out of breathe he was still able to stand
Lunging at me with lighten reflexes he manage to chock me in the neck
I fell to the ground almost coming back to consciousness but I stood fast
I already lost once and will not lose again, this time I will win
With the last bit of energy I punched him in the face as he stood over me thinking he won
The force was so powerful it created both a shock and a sound wave
He was projected into the air coming down hitting the ground creating a huge crater
I walked over to check out his condition, instead in the hole was nothing
He somehow retreated, I laid back and saw thing in my inner mind was changing back to normal
I close my eyes knowing I have won this battle but the war within have only just begun
poem by Murasaki Kitsune
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song of the Oak
The Druids waved their golden knives
And danced around the Oak
When they had sacrificed a man;
But though the learned search and scan
No single modern person can
Entirely see the joke.
But though they cut the throats of men
They cut not down the tree,
And from the blood the saplings spring
Of oak-woods yet to be.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He rots the tree as ivy would,
He clings and crawls as ivy would
About the sacred tree.
King Charles he fled from Worcester fight
And hid him in the Oak;
In convent schools no man of tact
Would trace and praise his every act,
Or argue that he was in fact
A strict and sainted bloke.
But not by him the sacred woods
Have lost their fancies free,
And though he was extremely big
He did not break the tree.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He breaks the tree as ivy would,
And eats the woods as ivy would
Between us and the sea.
Great Collingwood walked down the glade
And flung the acorns free,
That oaks might still be in the grove
As oaken as the beams above,
When the great Lover sailors love
Was kissed by Death at sea.
But though for him the oak-trees fell
To build the oaken ships,
The woodman worshipped what he smote
And honoured even the chips.
But Ivywood, Lord Ivywood,
He hates the tree as ivy would,
As the dragon of the ivy would
That has us in his grips.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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